


I Think You've Caught the Love Bug

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:46:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: I absolutely love your writing and keep up the great work!! Prompt- Shaw comes down with a very nasty flu bug and that has been zapping all her energy. Root being the very loving girlfriend (or wife, whatever you want their relationship to be) she is, does everything she possibly can to make Shaw feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think You've Caught the Love Bug

_One a.m. One freaking a.m._  Shaw’s stomach lurches again, and her back arches involuntarily as she vomits once more into the bathroom toilet. Brow creased in sweat, hands clammy and skin pale, she shakes with fatigue and the cold. She sits back, head resting against the cool tile wall, letting her bare shoulders roll. She swallows, a terrible taste coating her mouth. She reaches up, grabbing the edge of the bathroom counter, and pulls herself shakily up. Turning on the faucet, she cups her hands, splashing some icy water over her face. Looking into the mirror, she is disgruntled to see her messy hair and raccoon eyes. Her lips are chapped, nose red. Another lurch. _Oh no_. Turning swiftly, Shaw collapses back to her knees, letting out another, throat tearing wretch.

Two, three, four, five, six a.m. All roll by, Shaw’s energy zapping with each hour. She lays on her side, knees to her chin and arms wrapped around them tightly. Exhausted, nauseous, and utterly tired, Shaw lays immobile, staring at the trim on her floor. Her eyes start to droop, when suddenly there is a knock on her door. Sameen groans, but doesn’t move. Closing her eyes, she imagines walking to the door, turning the knob-

The wrapping continues. Harder, louder- more insistent. “Sam?”

* * *

 

Shaw swallows the bile in her mouth, pushing herself unwillingly into a sitting position. She sneezes, wipes her nose on her forearm, then stands with legs of pudding.

” _Sameen?_ ”

Slowly, Shaw hobbles to the door- yanks it open. She sees Root standing in the apartment hall. Her face goes from a delighted smile to a worried frown in a matter of seconds. Her eyes open wide.

"Sweetie, what  _happened_  to you?” She asks, bewilderment in her voice. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”

"Feels more like a mac truck," Shaw replies with a stuffed nose. Root gives her a sympathetic look.

"I’ll call Harold; tell him we’re not coming in today."

” _We?_ " Shaw retorts, looking Root up and down. " _You_ look like the beacon of health.”

Root flashes a flattered smile. “Yes, but you on the other hand, are not. I’m gonna take care of you.” Shaw laughs, turning her face to the side, hand still on the door.

"Bye, Root," she replies, starting to shut the door. Root pushes back with one hand, finding the fight surprisingly easy to win. She pushes the door open enough to slide inside, then closes it behind her. Looking around, Root’s brow furrows.

"Where did you.."

She hears a heaving noise, and looks down to see Shaw doubled over, hands on her knees. Root’s eyes widen. Sameen’s head dips down, and Root’s mouth falls ajar; she feels a steady stream of liquid- _please let it be water_ \- splatter across her boots.

_______________\ If Your Number’s Up /_________________

Shaw awakens to a soft blanket and the sound of a steaming kettle. Opening her eyes, she blinks the sleep from them, despising the bitter taste in her mouth. On the wood coffee table before her is a mint, and she quickly snatches it, popping the red and white candy into her mouth. She closes her eyes, savoring the flavor of something other than stomach acid.

Hearing footsteps, Shaw opens her eyes once more, looking up and seeing Root, two mugs in hand. She’s wearing light blue, cotton pajama pants and a slightly baggy, white t-shirt. Her hair is swept up in a messy wet bun, and her feet are bare on the cold, hardwood flooring. Sameen sits up, a headache growing in the back of her head, and Root sits beside her, handing her a steaming mug.

"Tea," She informs as Shaw sniffs over the cup’s rim. She takes a sip; feels the soothing wonders starting to work on her raw throat. Swallowing, she nods her head at Root.

"What’s up with the clothes? And why are you, uh, wet?"

Root gives Shaw an amused smile. “ _Well,_ " she starts like the telling of an old story, "after you threw up on me-  _twice_ \- I cleaned up and took a shower. I just grabbed these out of the cabinet where my extra clothes are.” Sameen nods, taking in everything she’s said.

"Sorry ‘bout that," she says, taking another swig of her tea. Her stomach rumbles. She puts the mug down, peering over the edge of the couch- the bathroom trashcan is perched just below her. Readying herself, she is relieved to feel the nausea pass.

"It’s alright," Root responds, brushing a strand of hair from Shaw’s pale face. She sneezes violently, and Root leans over, grabbing the box of tissues, handing them to Shaw.

"What did Harold say?" Shaw asks, blowing her nose. Root waits for her to finish.

"He told me to wish you luck."

Sameen gives a small laugh. “ _Luck?_  For being  _sick?_ ”

"No," Root responds. She pulls up the large blanket and scoots in close to Shaw before dropping it back around them. "Luck for dealing with  _me_  for the whole day.”

"But I do that every day anyway." Root gives her a doting smile, then flicks on the television. She wraps her arms gently around Shaw’s waist, pulling Shaw in to lean against her, the top of her head resting on the side of Root’s. Tired and weary, Shaw doesn’t object.

"You need to rest," Root informs Shaw in a soft voice, leaning her cheek on Sameen’s head. "And I’ll be right here to make sure you do so."

Shaw tries to laugh, but it comes out as a strained wheeze. “You’re gonna get sick,” she warns, yawning.

"I’ll take my chances," Root replies with a smile, giving her a quick kiss on the temple. She listens to Shaw’s breathing- tight with sickness at first. However, as she slowly slips into sleep, Root hears it level out to a restful pattern. Lifting her head, she looks at Shaw, taking in her sickly skin and purple rimmed eyes. Her heart hurts, wishing Sameen wasn’t so helplessly sick. Leaning forward, she gives Shaw a light kiss on the nose. Shaw’s eyebrows raise tiredly, not yet asleep. She tries to open her eyes, but her eyelids are lead.

"When I’m back to normal," she mumbles with acute annoyance, "you’re gonna  _get it_  from me.”

Root draws back, a playful smirk on her face and eyes filled with amusement. “For what?”

"Taking advantage of me when I’m too sick to kick your ass," she replies, then goes quiet. A moment later, silent snoring escapes her lips. Root turns her attention to the screen, a content countenance on her stunning face, arms still wrapped snugly around Sameen’s waist. Hit with a sudden wave of fatigue, Root finds herself slowly drifting off.

________________\ We’ll Find You /_______________

Waking up, Root looks to the wall clock:  _Two p.m_. Peering down at Sameen, a small smile overcomes her face. Slowly, she eases herself out from under Shaw’s sleeping form. Leaving her to rest on the couch, Root walks to the kitchen; rummages through the cabinets. She finds a can of soup and cracks it open. Draining it into a bowl, she sticks it in the microwave and turns. She sees Shaw, leaning against a kitchen chair, and gives her a disapproving look.

  
"You  _need_  to  _rest_ ,” Root echoes her past words, coming over to put her hands on Shaw’s forearms.

"And let  _you_ do all the work?” Shaw counters, sniffling. “I don’t think so.”

"At least blow your nose then," Root responds after a moment, conquered by Sameen’s attempt at acting tough. With a triumphant grin, Shaw walks over to the table and grabs a napkin.

"I ever tell you what a good girlfriend you are?" Sameen says between snotty blows.

"By letting you walk around  _sick_?” Root asks with a laugh, but there is a swell in her heart. “You feeling any better?”

Shaw nods, and the microwave dings. Taking the bowl out, she places it on the table, then grabs an apple and pop tart for herself. Taking a seat across from Shaw, she watches at she slowly consumes lunch. She chuckles.

"What?" Shaw asks defensively, slurping down a noodle.

Root shakes her head with the shrug of her shoulders in amusement. “That’s just the slowest I’ve ever seen you eat.”

Shaw shoots her a cross look. “ _Ha. ha_.”

Finishing up, Root’s phone pings, and she retrieves in from her pocket. Sliding it unlocked, she quickly scans the message.

"John wants to know how you’re making out." Root tells Shaw as she types back.

"What’d you say?"

"That’s between the two of us." Root muses over Shaw’s glowering look, wiping her mouth.

” _Root.._ ”

"Yes, Sam?" she replies innocently, enjoying the annoyance in Shaw’s eyes.

"Don’t make me come over there." Her threat gets nothing more than a humored laugh from Root. Shaw starts to stand.

"Okay, _okay_ ,” Root responds, trying to dismiss her laughter. “I told him you’re doing better. But the two of you won’t be terrorizing the town any time soon.”

"What’re you talking about?" Shaw replies with another sniffle. "I’ll be back by tomorrow."

"Maybe," Root replies, standing. "I’ll be the judge of that."

” _I’ll be the judge of that,_ " Shaw mimics in a nasally voice, rolling her eyes. Standing, she places her bowl in the sink, then heads back for the couch. Root follows, eyes warm, as she slips back under the blanket with Shaw. Sameen flicks the channel, stopping on some cop show, and takes a draught from her icy tea.

"Ulgh," Shaw shutters, putting it back down. Root chuckles seeing her disgusted face. "Tastes like dirt cold."

"Tastes like dirt warm," Root replies with a smile. "I never could understand why Harold loves it so much."

"It takes an  _acquired taste_ ,” Shaw says in a mock arrogant voice, and the two laugh amiably. Root leans her head on Shaw’s shoulder, and they focus on the gun-happy show.

Then, Root jerks forward with a sneeze. The women look at each other, exchanging half amused and half knowing looks.  _Here we go again_ , Shaw thinks, shaking her head with a smirk.


End file.
